


Birds of a Feather

by danceswithhamsters01



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Companion POV, Curb-stomping of Templars, Gen, Potty-mouthed Mages be here!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 08:28:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16193828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01
Summary: A piece based on Anders' point of view.The Fifth Blight is over, but darkspawn are still troubling the arling of Amaranthine. Anders was taken from the templars' custody by an old friend from the Circle, now the Warden-Commander of Ferelden. Some things have changed, while others have not.





	Birds of a Feather

**Author's Note:**

> OK! Some headcanon takes place here!  
> 1) The Amell in this piece is NOT the daughter of Revka! Her mother is the younger sister of Leandra and Gamlen Amell. Said younger sister ran away from home and made her way to northern Ferelden.  
> 2) Amell and Anders in my HC are much closer in age than Bioware's "default world state."  
> 3) The Confirmation ceremony is sort of like a baby christening in the real world. 
> 
> Also, I took heavy inspiration/borrowed from the in-game dialogue of DA:O-Awakening.

Tromping up steps. So many damned steps. Reminds me too much of the tower. One last thick door stands between me and what I hope is the roof. I’d already run across 3 dead ends. How the sod did anyone not get lost in here? I push the heavy door open, it was a bit of fight because the wood was ever-so-slightly warped. There is a faint hint of the sea in the air.

 

Well, at least I found the roof. Or one of them. Looking around, I see a couple of watchtowers to the south and the north. I smirk as I feel the tiniest of vibrations in the unseen web of magic around me. She’s nearby. I follow my sensing while letting my sight drink in the surroundings. Peering to the northeast, you can see the Amaranthine ocean. The city that bears the Arling’s name lay to the north.

 

She doesn’t even twitch or look at me as I plop next to her. Her eyes are fixed on the ocean, wearing the faintest of smiles.

 

“Hello, Anders. You must be feeling better if you’re up and about.”

 

“More or less,” I answer.

 

She hadn’t been kidding about how rough the Joining would be. She’d taken me aside and offered to let me run away rather than go through with it an hour before the ritual took place. I’d had my fill of running from Templars and stayed. The seneschal had said I’d been unconscious for over a day. The dwarf, Oghren, she called him, had survived. Sadly, that pretty knight, Mhairi, had not. The dreams… were something else.

 

“Have you eaten yet?”

 

And so it begins. All she needed were feathers and a beak and she’d be the biggest mother hen in the kingdom. Varel had made certain I’d eaten something before letting me leave the infirmary. A hunk of cheese and some meat. I’d been used to going without, making food last as long as I could. She chuckles when my stomach growls quite loudly.

 

“Get used to it doing that, at first. Here,” she unwraps a square of cloth and hands me something… it smells so familiar.

 

“Honeycake?” I blink in surprise. I hadn’t had that stuff in ages. We weren’t quite kids anymore the last time we’d eaten it. Before… well, everything. The Blight. Jowan’s hair-brained scheme. Karl being sent away. All of it.

 

“Yep. Cook looked at me like I had three heads when I asked her to make it. Called it ‘peasant fare.’ Funny that the only Orlesian to survive the attack was the chef, eh?” She wears a smile, but I know which one it is. It’s the one she wears when scared out of her mind but doesn’t want to give that away.

 

I dig in, savoring the treat. I let her keep her mask on for the moment. She’ll take it off when she’s ready. Hopefully. If not, well, one fire at a time, yeah?

 

“I felt like I was starving for weeks after my Joining. At least you won’t have to hunt unless you want to. I was tempted to eat the game raw when I’d catch something,” she chuckles.

 

Increased appetite wasn’t entirely a bad thing. She almost looked normal now. She’d been too scrawny as a kid. Still short, though.

 

“It’s… strange. It smells exactly the way I remembered. All those years in the Circle, you think I’d’ve forgotten it. But...” she shrugs, at a loss for words.

 

She was from a city by the sea. Amaranthine. She’d found her records in the Circle. How, I don’t know, she didn’t tell me that little tidbit. And now? She’s the boss of the bann who rules over that city. The Arling had been given to the Grey Wardens after the civil war and fifth Blight ended. The people in charge up north tapped her to command the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, making her the kingdom’s Warden-Commander. At least, that’s what I understood from eavesdropping that treasurer, Woolsey. According to Varel, that made her the equivalent of an arlessa. Not bad for a mage, right?

 

“I’m… going to go into the city. Later, that is. Do some looking around. Maybe poke around the chantry and such.”

 

Probably hoping there might be… something. Probably Confirmation records. A long shot, that. I finish up the last of the cake and discreetly lick my fingers while she isn’t looking.

 

“Let me know when. Spending more than a day in bed’s made me restless.”

 

A lop-sided smile. One of her real ones. The mask is gone for now.

 

**

 

I don’t feel as tired as quickly. Not all of the Joining’s side effects are bad, she told me. Only most of them. It would’ve taken normal folks most of a day to hoof it from Vigil’s Keep to Amaranthine, but we weren’t normal folks anymore, not even that dwarf. She let him come along, saying that he’d come in handy if we bumped into any trouble.

 

Soon enough, the city comes into view in the afternoon sun. She pauses to speak with people in the small crowd gathered near the city’s gates. The knot between her brows gets sharper and sharper as the conversations go on. She is not amused and marches up to the guardsmen on duty. Eventually, the captain of the guard himself comes to see what is going on. I bite my cheek to not laugh as he falls over himself apologizing to his new arlessa.

 

She stomps away from the gate after the captain of the guard leaves. She heaves a big sigh while leaning against a weathered section of wooden fencing. I hop up and take a seat on a more sturdy looking section.

 

“Ah, can you smell that?” I lean back and stretch. “That is the smell of freedom. It comes complete with the smell of dogs and dust, but the freedom is in there, too.”

 

She chuckles. “I think that’s just someone baking a pie.”

 

“The fact that there are pies around to smell is a step up for me. I’ve led a pie-less existence, more or less.” I bite my lip. This may or may not be news to her. “I escaped from the tower seven times. After the last time, they put me in solitary confinement for a year.”

 

Her head snaps up, looking me in the eye, horror written in her features. “That’s where you…? I thought… Kirkwall… I thought you’d made it there. Oh, Maker. You were there for…?” She looks pained, unable to finish the question.

 

“No. They got me after you’d turned Uldred into a fine paste.”

 

She nods, eyes gazing at the ground, a shiver passing through her body. No one had wanted to talk about what happened, not even the templars. All anyone said on the subject was that the Grey Wardens had swooped in and tore through the demons, abominations, and blood mages as if sent by the Maker Himself. The First Enchanter had survived, thanks to them. Unfortunately. I wouldn’t say that out loud around her, of all people. She’d been his pet.

 

“Eventually, I’m sure they would have branded me a maleficar, true or not, and executed me.”

 

She frowns. “I’m… not so sure of that. You know how rare we are. Why kill the cash cows?”

 

At least she can admit it. Healers are valuable slaves to the Chantry. We do all the work, while they take the profits. Not even the Circle got a cut. It all went to the Chantry, nevermind the many children living in the Circle who also required food and clothing. One healer in the Grey Wardens probably had them annoyed, at the very least. Once a Grand Cleric finds out two of us are Wardens, who knows what could happen?

 

“The problem is that we mages are tolerated. Barely. It’s like you need permission to be alive,” I fume. “There’s nothing we can do to prove ourselves. Everyone needs to be protected from us. The end.”

 

She nods sadly, eyes fixed on the ground, arms folded in front of her, as if trying to fend off a chill. Spoiled pet or not, even she had to face some harsh realities.

 

“There has to be a better way of doing things. We’re not monsters. The way they treat us drives the desperate to...” She squeezes her eyes shut, no doubt remembering some blood mage or abomination-induced horror.

 

“The Tevinter Imperium has a better way, but we know how that argument flies around here.”

 

She glowers, looking at nothing in particular. “I’d not sing their praises too highly. Killed some slavers in Denerim. They were ‘vints. They were going to use those elves for.. for…”

 

She didn’t need to say the words “blood magic.” The one sort of magic neither of us would willingly touch. It brought ruin wherever it went. Even before Uldred, we’d seen what happened when someone thought they were beyond the rules. A blood mage had murdered her first mentor back in the Circle.

 

We sit in silence for a bit. I know when not to push. Some wounds never heal all the way. I watch Oghren argue with a chicken for a few minutes. How he manages to keep his sack of booze full nearly all the time is beyond me. When I’d asked her about it, all Sevarra told me was that he had more reasons to drink than we had fingers and toes.

 

I hop down from my perch. “All I want is a pretty girl, a decent meal, and the right to shoot lightning at fools.”

 

Without missing a beat, she smirks, still looking at nothing in particular. “I think you’re aiming too low. But you can do that last one if it’s needful in the line of official Warden business.”

 

“True. I want a harem, a banquet, and the ability to rain fireballs upon every Templar in creation.” I sigh. “Never mind me. Now and again I recall that I’m not sitting in a cell and I have to smile, that’s all.”

 

We make our way into the city proper, the guards hastily saluting us. I guess there’s an upside to being in uniform. Amaranthine, being the “jewel” of the arling and a port city, is busy almost at any given day of the week. The business with darkspawn attacking the countryside has the common folk on edge, to say the least. I’d heard reports back at the keep about farms and villages being ransacked by the darkspawn. Dealing with problems like that was part of the reason I’d been Conscripted. However, there were just three of us accounted for. Her Orlesian Warden reinforcements had gone missing in the attack on the keep.

 

Eventually, we find ourselves at the most decorated building in the city: the Chantry, naturally. Pushing the door open shows us a Confirmation in progress. A small child, 2 years old at most, is sitting in a circle of lit candles while a priest prays over him. We’re too far away to hear the old bat’s nattering. She then dips a finger in ash and draws a tiny circle on the boy’s forehead. Behind her, one of the Brothers is frantically writing things down. I think we’ll need to talk to him once he’s freed up.

 

Sevvy herds Oghren on to a pew while we wait for the ritual to be over. He chuckles softly and quietly leers at a nearby statue of Andraste. I sometimes wonder if the Prophetess had really looked like that, or if some artistic license had been taken. Either way, it’s undeniably nice to look at.

 

Eventually, the boy and his family shuffle out of the sanctuary, all smiles. A few beats after they leave, she whispers to me, “Distract them. I need a few minutes.”

 

Before I can protest, she’s gone like a puff of smoke in the wind. The Revered Mother notices the dwarf and I and shuffles over to us. I try my best to be charming and chat about nothing important, making certain to gush over the art and giving the appearance of fascination when the biddy answers. New boss or not, the Commander owes me for this. Once the Revered Mother takes her leave and shuffles into her office, Sevarra comes speed-walking back to us and quickly herds us out and away from the chantry.

 

We’re in front of a pub on the other side of the city before she finally slows down and lets us rest. I get a second to see the name on the shingle before she all but shoves us in the door, “The Crown and Lion.” We’re hustled into a corner table, mostly out of sight from curious eyes. After the tavern girl is sent away with a few coins to bring us some brew and whatever is on offer for supper, she looks side to side before pulling a bundle of papers from underneath her cloak.

 

“I’m almost afraid to ask you what that is, Commander.”

 

“Shhh, not so loud,” she hisses. “I may have… kind of… sort of… burgled the Brother’s office for these.”

 

She quickly scans them, her face unreadable, before quickly stuffing them back into the leather binder she’d purloined moments before the server returned with our fare. The smell of food sharply overpowers my mind and I try not eat like a savage beast while trying to sate my hunger. I think I've eaten more in the past day than I have in the three days beforehand. Oghren, of course, tries the ale first. He gives an appreciative hum after a couple of pulls.

 

“Hops. Bit of cinnamon and… mm, what’s that one thing, a nut?” he asks.

 

Sev takes a sip of her mug, brows knit in concentration. Smacking her lips, she makes a guess. “Tastes a bit like nutmeg. Technically, it’s not a nut, it’s a seed.”

 

“Yeah! That’s it! Them Dalish folks had it in their mead, too! Still haven’t gotten the recipe right on that, yet,” he grumbles.

 

“When have you ever had Dalish spirits?” I ask between mouthfuls of stew. I don’t know if the cook was any good, or if my hunger merely made me think the stuff was good.

 

“During the Blight. We helped one of the clans living in the Brecilian forest with a werewolf problem. They were relieved when it was done with. They had a bit of a celebration and shared their booze,” the dwarf answers. “Good stuff. Took me two days to remember what happened. You surfacers don’t realize how good you have it. The stuff back in Orzammar is made with dirt!”

 

Right. I’d forgotten that she knew the dwarf from before. I didn’t know he was from Orzammar, that would explain why he was so jumpy and why he fell for the schleet prank. I’ll need to get her to talk later.

 

We finish our food and the server comes to take away our bowls. The Commander shoves more coins toward her and asks for more drink. Once the girl is gone, she pulls the binder back out and begins reading.

 

“Well, anything interesting?” I ask.

 

“Potentially,” she says, eyes not leaving the page. “It would seem Justinian has been a popular month to get married in. In this city, at least.”

 

I nearly spit out my drink. Did she… did she steal records from the chantry? Right out from under the Revered Mother’s nose?! The teacher’s pet had sticky fingers?

 

The binder is hidden again when the server returns with fresh mugs. I pace myself. More than one drink usually leads to trouble. Such is the life of a mage. Always worrying about staying in control of yourself. Sev doesn’t seem to want to risk it, either, shoving her mug toward Oghren. He certainly doesn’t complain about it.

 

She’s absorbed in the binder’s contents a good while before we leave. We stumble into a familiar face a couple of streets away from the pub.

 

“Oy! About time you showed up!” the grumpy elven woman barks.

 

“Namaya? You’re still here?”

 

She glares at me. “I keep my promises. Here,” she shoves a scrap of paper at me. “turns out you were right. The cache is here in Amaranthine.”

 

“It is? You found it?”

 

“I did. What you do with the information is up to you. I, for one, am done dealing with mages,” she growls. She gives the Commander and the dwarf a look. “Word of advise-- don’t let him sweet-talk you. He’s very good at that.”

 

Sevarra barks a laugh, grinning.

 

“Er, I guess I should thank you...”

 

“Damned right you should. You get caught, Anders, I’m not helping you again. That’s all I’m saying,” Namaya snarls before walking away.

 

Sev gives me an amused look, waiting for clarification.

 

“I… suppose that requires some explanation.”

 

“Friend of yours, I take it?” she asks.

 

“Namaya is… a friend. Last time I escaped from the tower, I asked her to look into some things. That’s why I was in Amaranthine. The templars thought I’d come to take a ship, but it was to meet her.”

 

“And what did she find out?” she prods.

 

“During the Blight, the templars moved their store of phylacteries to Amaranthine for safety. My phylactery is among them, Namaya learned. So long as the templars have that sample of my blood, they can find me. I need to destroy it.”

 

“But you’re a Grey Warden now. Circle rules no longer apply to us,” she points out.

 

“What’s to stop the Chantry from deciding mages in the Grey Wardens are apostates, too?” I shoot back. “I want to be sure they can’t find me again. Ever.”

 

She doesn’t know what it’s like, being hunted, being on the run. She’d always been the ‘good little student’ and had no idea how much she’d been protected due to the fact that the templars were too afraid to piss off the First Enchanter by treating her like the rest of us.

 

“I know we’re busy killing darkspawn and all. But the sooner we find this vial, the better I’ll feel.”

 

She looks thoughtful for a few moments before speaking. “If they tried, I know the king would look the other way if I killed them for it. You’re a Warden, you answer only to me, our superiors in Weisshaupt, and his Majesty. But why not save the templars from temptation, yes? Perhaps mine will be in there, too?”

 

She didn’t even hesitate when she mentioned killing. That… that is a big change from the girl I knew. I’ll ask later. Right now, phylacteries first, while she’s still of a mind for it. Strike while the iron is hot, before she changes her mind! We follow the directions Namaya wrote in her note, finding ourselves at a warehouse on the seedier end of the city. She kicks in the door and saunters in.

 

I look around. There are the usual rows of chests, cupboards, and crates of goods, some locked up, others not. But something was missing…

 

“No guards? Maybe they don’t want to draw attention to the cache? Could we be that lucky?” I say. My heart is pounding. Still nothing that looks like a vial or jar in sight.

 

Sev hums, gliding over to a door in the back of the room. She scowls and readies her staff before opening it. I grab mine just in case. If she has cause to worry, then I probably do, too. The dwarf already has his battle-ax in hand.

 

My heart drops as we find people waiting for us in the room. Ser Rylock and four templar goons are there. She has a dung-eating grin as her eyes land on me.

 

“And here I almost believed the infamous Anders wouldn’t take the bait,” she smirks.

 

“Ah. Yes, I suppose I should have known it would be you.”

 

She levels a glare at Sevarra. “You made a poor choice with this one, Commander. Anders will never submit, not to us and not to you.”

 

I can feel the room growing colder. Not too smart, that templar, baiting a frost mage. Sev does have a bit of a temper, if you push her enough.

 

“He has made a fine Grey Warden so far,” the Commander growls.

 

Rylock sneers. “So far, yes. I’ll make sure that this murderer is never a bother to anyone again.”

 

“Listen, you boot-licking bitch,” the Commander enunciates each syllable as if it were a sharp dagger. “I know you’re not the sharpest sword in the armory, but my Warden here did not kill those unfortunate Templars in Vigil’s Keep. Darkspawn did. If you have still have an issue, I suggest you take it up with them. I demand you cease harassing my agent, you’re interfering with his duties!”

 

Rylock looks enraged. A vein on her temple is just delightfully throbbing as she grinds her teeth.

 

“Men, arrest that mage. He’s wanted for murder!” A pair of templars walk toward us.

 

“What? No! You can’t arrest me! King Alistair allowed my Conscription!”

 

Rylock snarls. “The Chantry’s authority supersedes the crown in this matter. You cannot hide within the Grey Wardens’ ranks.”

 

“I am the Warden-Commander of Ferelden. The Chantry has no authority over me or my agents. I am also your arlessa. Do not forget that the right of high justice is mine in this Arling,” Sevarra glares as she gets in the templar’s face. “Anders stays with us. Desist. Or die.”

 

Rylock does not seem to take being threatened by a mage in any sort of good humor. She draws her sword. “I am hardly surprised by you, Commander. The Grey Wardens have ever been a haven for criminals and maleficar.”

 

“This is how you thank His Majesty and I for our hard work saving the kingdom from certain death?” Sevarra glowers.

 

“I do not know how you inspire such loyalty, Anders, but it will avail you naught. Now you come with us,” Rylock studiously avoids the Commander’s eyes.

 

The other templars draw their weapons and advance on us. Before Rylock can get one of her Smites off, Sevarra roars as a blizzard comes into being above her, quickly freezing metal boots to the floor.

 

“Oggy! Smash the bitch first!” she yells over the wind.

 

The dwarf launches himself into the air shortly after the Commander blasts more ice in the Templar’s face, freezing her solid. His ax shatters Rylock into pieces as it slices downward, scattering them around the room. I shake myself out of my stupor and hurl a bolt of lightning at one of the templars. The remaining four go down quickly.

 

My heart hammers chaotically while I catch my breath. The dwarf and the Commander are nonchalantly checking the remains for… whatever. Valuables, perhaps? She glares with fury as she finds a crumpled bit of parchment with a wax seal still mostly intact. She stuffs it into her satchel and continues searching. She dumps out boxes and clears shelves, growing more frantic as the minutes tick past.

 

I find my tongue after a bit. “Hmm. I wonder of Namaya knew about this? I guess it doesn’t really matter.”

 

Sev scowls darkly at the mention of the elf’s name. I suspect a certain elf will no longer be welcome in the arling.

 

“Thank you. You stood by me, and I appreciate that.”

 

She leans on her staff. “You’re a friend. Friends stick up for each other,” she says simply.

 

“I… guess they do.” I survey the damage around us. Five dead templars, one of them in more than two pieces, and most of the room coated in rapidly melting ice. I’d hate to be the poor sap cleaning this up. “Anyhow, let’s go before someone else rushes in to waggle a finger at us.”

 

She nods, futilely running a hand through her wind-swept hair. We slink through back alleys and leave by way of one of the less popular gates. Most of the trip back to the keep is silent.

 

**

 

It’s another day and change before we have any downtime. I have to use my sensing to find her again. It’s almost as if she deliberately hides from the seneschal and Woolsey. To be fair, they tend to monopolize her, given the chance. She’d only eaten once the previous day because her advisers didn’t give her a moment of peace until after sunset.

 

I find her on a different roof, this time. She’s looking out at the sea, in the general direction of the arling’s “jewel” city, scowling. The sun is just starting to set, painting the horizon in a wild burst of pinks, golds and oranges.

 

“Copper for your thoughts?” I announce, hoping to not startle her.

 

She doesn’t even twitch, just pulls her knees toward her chin and rests her head on them. “Just sort of wishing I could be doing a little ‘raining of fireballs on every templar in creation’ myself right now.”

 

Okay, that’s a new one. Last I’d heard back in the Circle, she’d been sneaking around and smothering a certain templar in kisses whenever she got the chance. What prompted the change? “Any particular reason why?”

 

She sniffles, unfolding a bit of parchment. “I found something. It’s… it’s not much but… I think it was her.” She points to a pair of names in the middle of the page. I sit and scoot a bit closer to read the delicate handwriting, fading with age.

 

_16 Drakonis 9:11 Dragon- Marriage solemnized. Anya Methara Amell, formerly of Kirkwall, to Lorris, formerly of Hasmal Alienage._

 

She points to another line further down the paper.

_22 Kingsway 9:11 Dragon- Confirmation of Sevarra Leonorah Amell, child of Anya Amell._

 

“And then look down here,” she says, turning the page over.

 

_1 Haring 9:13 Dragon- Funeral pyres for Anya Amell and maleficar spouse made and concluded._

 

“The good Brother and Revered Mother can sweat a good long while before they get these back,” she says with a hard voice, folding up the parchment again. She buries her face in her arms on her knees, shaking as she quietly weeps.

 

It didn’t have to say it, but that parchment pretty much screamed “Templars murdered this couple” to me. I’m not entirely sure what to do or say. I just sit next to her for a while.


End file.
